


All Fall

by VictoriaAGrey



Category: Supernatural, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel is obvious and doesn't know why Dean hasn't caught on yet, Daryl is obvious and mad about it, Dean makes crass jokes to test the waters, Haunting, Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Rick doesn't know how to make a move, Romance, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Traits of Croatoan and the walker virus are used to create one superbug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2241417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaAGrey/pseuds/VictoriaAGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After finding refuge within the prison, the ever present tension between Dean and Castiel rises to new heights. Both want to make a move, but who will do it first?</p>
<p>Rick and Daryl have been dancing around their attraction to each other for months. All it takes is one inappropriately timed comment from Castiel to push matters over the edge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cookiebatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiebatch/gifts).



> Before we get this show on the road, a very special thanks to Cookiebatch. Without her, this story would not exist. I hope I've done your brainchild proud, lady.
> 
> Now for time specifications! In terms of TWD timeline, this takes place about a month after the season three finale. Yes, that means we get a dose of farmer!Rick action. Team Freewill has been thrown into their timeline. Not time travel-wise, but that this was the easiest time to inject them into TWD. Oh! And Cas's grace has not been compromised.
> 
> ALRIGHT!!! Time to get this show on the road!
> 
> I hope you enjoy your read!

The virus spread quickly, leaving only destruction and waking death in its path. Before the television and radio stations ceased their broadcasts, the catalyst to the world’s sixth extinction event had been given a name: Croatoan. Most were not aware of the historical implications behind the name, but those that were felt there was a cruel symmetry in it. Fitting. Perhaps those who settled the Roanoke colony all those centuries ago, to only be wiped out in one fell swoop, would appreciate the fearful homage being paid to them.

Croatoan’s efficiency was startling. It was spread through contact with the infected’s blood; confirmation of infection coming within hours by way of high fevers, the putrid smell of sulfur, and bleeding from every orifice within the face. Those who were fortunate were in comas when death came to claim them. For those who were not, they faced hours of agony: joints feeling as if they were composed of shattered glass, muscles pulling and contracting, tendons flexing to the point of rupture. It was a horrid death, one which even those seasoned in death couldn’t stand to watch, and it possessed the ability to bring the most hardened of Atheists to their knees praying for mercy.

Death, rather than being the predictable life event it once was, only lasted for eight hours at the most before becoming something new. The dead came back and they rose with a viciousness most did not have in life. They attacked in groups, fast and easily overwhelming due to their size. Having their flesh torn into by chipped nails and teeth covered in congealed blood is what awaited those who were captured by the herds of the dead.

It was a death Dean Winchester was going to avoid at all costs.

“Cas, unless you have something useful to add, shut your mouth,” Dean bit out through his teeth as he drove the Impala down some woods encased Georgia back road. The three of them had just barely managed to escape a herd alive and Dean was in no mood for Castiel’s newly acquired love for making pop culture references.

“No, Dean he’s got a point,” Sam objected from the passenger seat. “In all of the lore we have about zombies and the Croatoan virus, none of it accounts for what we’re seeing.”

“He wasn’t trying to point out the differences between what we know and what’s happening. He just wants to talk about World War Z.”

Sounding distinctly offended, Castiel replied, “That is not true. I was referring to Dawn of the Dead.”

Slamming the palm of his hand against the wheel, Dean let out an exasperated grunt and forced himself to pay attention to the road and not bark back a scathing a remark to Cas. He knew he meant well, probably trying to lighten the dark mood that permeated the car, but Dean was in no mindset to welcome his attempt at levity.

The last six months tried him in ways he could not have imagined before The Turn. In their search for knowledge to know if anything like this had happened before, they holed up in the bunker for weeks; Sam staying up for days on end reading while Castiel retrieved all of Bobby’s books for reviewing and Dean scavenged for supplies. Nothing helpful was found before they were forced to abandon the bunker late one night after it was overrun by a herd so large it likely clocked in at over one hundred strong. Ever since then, they had not spent more than a week in one spot before being forced to move on. Even for someone like Dean, who was used to moving around, it was tough and it weighed on him that he had not yet found a place to keep Sam and Cas safe.

Minutes passed in silence before the sight of a Hyundai, which had likely seen better days, and a motorcycle came into view. Slowly easing off of the gas pedal, Dean decided to take a risk and see if the people who owned the vehicles were friendly enough to talk and perhaps reveal where their settlement was. Maybe they could take them in.

“Think they have a place?” Sam asked.

“I know they do. That bike is well maintained. Can’t do that if you’re constantly on the move.”

Moving like a well oiled machine, the three of them got out of the car, guns cocked, and moved towards the vehicles. No one was inside the Hyundai, but the hood was warm, likely meaning that whoever had driven it was still nearby. Walking as quietly through the trees as they could, they found no sign of people until a gruff voice behind them stopped them in their tracks.

“Put yer guns down slowly and turn ta face me.”

It wasn’t everyday that someone managed to one up Dean in terms of stealth and it was with no small amount of surprise that he put his weapon down and turned to face whoever had managed to beat him at his own game.

Whoever he was, Dean could tell he was not a man to be trifled with. He was tall, likely only a couple inches shorter than himself and he wore an inscrutable mask that gave away nothing. Although covered in dirt and his shaggy hair was sticking to his forehead due to sweat, Dean could see it was newly acquired. He was not the kind of dirty that one became after spending days or weeks on end without washing. There was also the small fact that the crossbow currently being pointed at his head looked to be as well cared for as the motorcycle he had seen. This man was not only the owner of the bike, but Dean now knew he was right. He, evidently, had a place to call home.

“What’d ya want?”

“To talk. My name is Sam. That’s my brother, Dean,” Sam said as he gestured towards him before pointing at Cas. “And that’s Castiel.”

Giving them a final once over, the man lowered his crossbow and called out that it was clear. With his assurances, a lanky teenager wearing a sheriff’s hat and a woman with long dreads resheathing a katana emerged from behind two trees.

“Talk.”

“We’re just looking for a place to stay, man. Been on the road awhile,” Dean replied. “We could tell from your motorcycle that you have a place.”

“How?”

“It’s clean. Nobody has time to do that if they’re not settled somewhere that gives them time.”

Nodding to acknowledgment his assessment, the bowman turned to the woman, with whom he seemed to share some silent conversation that consisted of only the squinting of their eyes and small head movements. After thirty some odd seconds, he looked back at them with a calculating expression.

“How many walkers have you killed?”

Honestly having no idea how many walkers, as they referred to them, he had killed, he turned to Sam hoping that he would have a better idea. It was not comforting to see that he looked as baffled by the question and its potential answer as he did.

“I have witnessed Dean kill eighty-seven, Sam seventy-three, and myself fifty-eight.”

Glancing at Cas in awe, he almost smiled at his self-congratulatory look. “I have an extraordinarily retentive memory, Dean.”

“I can see that.”

“How many people have you killed?” the man questioned, ignoring his and Cas’s little banter.

Knowing that the question did not have a simple answer, and not wanting to risk Cas inadvertently revealing that he could, technically, be classified as a mass murderer, he answered before he had a chance to say anything. “Collectively, we’ve killed twelve.” _After The Turn_ , Dean mentally added.

“Why?”

“We’ve been forced to defend ourselves and what resources we have several times. We don’t kill the living if we don’t have to.” Dean felt a pang of nostalgia for the days when his life had been clean cut. Hunt monsters; save humans. Now there were shades of grey every which way he turned.

“Alright. You can come with us but know that this ain’t no free ride. There’s safety in numbers. If we need yer help, yer gonna give it.”

“Of course. Absolutely,” Sam assented with the first genuine smile Dean had seen in weeks. He allowed himself a small smirk as he winked at Cas, who looked as relieved as he felt, and they began to follow the group in front of them back to the road.

“I’m Carl, by the way,” the teenager stated as he slowed to walk with them. “The guy with the crossbow is Daryl and that’s Michonne.”

“Nice to meet you, Carl,” Dean responded knowing he meant it. He could already tell he was going to like this kid. “Daryl, is he your dad?”

The crack in his laugh told Dean how old Carl likely was and it made him smile. He remembered what it was like having his voice crack and how the only silver lining he saw was that the embarrassment of it wouldn’t last long. “No. My dad’s back at the prison.”

“Carl!” Michonne called from beside the Hyundai and Carl ran to catch up with her.

Once he was out of earshot, Dean turned to Castiel with a mischievous look in his eyes. “Hey, Cas - ”

“Dean, I fucking swear, if you make one joke about dropping the soap...”

“Sammy, never let it be said that you don’t know how to ruin a good time.”


	2. Cynthiana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you thought I'd let this fic go by the wayside, huh?
> 
> No way.

Birds flew from their perches in the trees as the roaring engines of the motorcycle and Impala grew closer. Everyone knew that sound attracted walkers, making the Hyundai a more practical car by a long shot, but sentimental ties were strong in a world that was run by death. It’s clutches were an ever present feeling; fingers clinching tightly around the throats of all those who were still alive.

Tall fences topped with barbed wire soon came into view. Behind them were green patches of grass and a massive concrete structure that had people milling about it. Apparently Carl wasn’t kidding when he said his father was back at the prison.

“Dean, what is prison like?”

“What makes you think I’ve been to prison!?”

“We have been to prison.”

“Because we allowed ourselves to get caught for a case,” Dean retorted indignantly. “And I don’t like the way he said it.”

Pulling to a stop behind the Hyundai, Dean waited for the large, steel-plated gates to be parted before driving through on the dirt paved path. Following behind the other’s lead, the Impala was parked alongside them against one of the prison’s wings. All three climbed out of the car eager to stretch their legs in safe territory that would likely serve as home, at least for a little while.

“Follow me,” ordered the surly motorcycle owner, also known as Daryl, before the thought even crossed Dean’s mind to case the structure. Nodding reassuringly towards Castiel and Sam, they fell into place behind him.

Gravel crunched under Dean’s boots as he followed Daryl’s lead, all the while wondering what he was leading them to. There wasn’t much out in the field, just a few fledgling crops and a makeshift irrigation system. A rueful smile crossed his face when it occurred to him that they were already being assigned jobs, the warning of “no free ride” taking on abrupt and apparent meaning. He had been hoping they would be getting some sort of recuperation time after being on the road for so long, but, as the saying goes, no rest for the wicked.

“Rick!” Daryl called out as he came to a stop at the edge of where the crops - corn being Dean’s guess - began.

“Daryl,” responded a man who walked out of a shed-type structure to their left. Turning to face him, Dean took in what he could about the man.

After a lifetime of avoiding the police like the plague – _HA!_ Dean laughed internally at his own poor choice of wording – he recognized one in Rick the second he strode in their direction. There was an unshakable air of authority about him, from the way he walked to the way his eyes hardened at the sight of new people. Dean felt himself straighten in response, both in recoil and a primitive need to show off his height and power. A light touch to the small of his back, a warning signal developed between them long ago, told him that Sam was on alert as well.

“Found ‘em while I was out teachin’ Michonne and Carl how ta track,” Daryl explained as he approached Rick, standing in front of him almost to the point where he was shielding him from Dean’s line of sight. “Figured ya’d wanna meet ‘em.”

Rick nodded in acknowledgment as he placed a hand on Daryl’s elbow and then walked around him to stride towards the new comers. Daryl fell into place beside him easily.

“Rick Grimes. And you are?” he asked as he held out his hand, the suspicion in his eyes being forcibly repressed, likely in the hope of appearing friendlier. It didn’t work much.

“Richmond Grimes? Of Cynthiana, Kentucky?” Castiel asked in a voice that sounded as surprised as everyone looked at his interruption.

Dean aborted his movement to take Rick’s hand in favor of looking at Castiel. From what he could tell, he was a tangled mess of emotions: confused, hopeful, fearful, and pleased being the most prominent. Either way, he knew that Cas knew something about this man, perhaps of divine origin, and Dean planned to question him at his earliest opportunity.

“Yes,” Rick answered uncertainly, suspicion coming back to his face as quickly as it had left. “Who’s asking?”

“My name is Castiel. It is an honor to meet you,” he replied eagerly as held out his hand, looking for all the world like a groupie meeting their favorite rock star. His excitement visibly escalated when Rick hesitantly took his hand and shook it, the moment lasting only a second before both withdrew quickly, as if they had been shocked by the contact. Rick looked baffled. Cas looked like he was on cloud nine.

“How do you know who I am?”

“I... heard about you. In Cynthiana. I went to high school there. After you graduated.”

It took every shred of willpower Dean possessed to not laugh at Cas’s terrible lying ability, the desire kept at bay by the massive amount of relief he felt at him actually knowing to lie in the situation rather than tell the bald-faced truth, as he was usually inclined to do. The look in Rick’s eyes was skeptical to the nth degree, but there was no reason for him to doubt Castiel and the new arrivals, not yet at least. After nodding to himself, he turned back to Dean.

“And you are?”

“Dean,” he said as he put a hand on his chest, and then waved his hand in Sam’s direction, “and Sam Winchester.”

“What’s yer dad’s name?” Daryl asked from Rick’s side, stepping forth to catch their attention.

“John,” Sam answered. “He’s been dead close to ten years now.”

“Rick, I need ta talk ta ya for second.”

Daryl quickly led Rick away from them with an insistent hand splayed across the middle of his back. Dean would have given anything he had to hear what he was hurriedly whispering in Rick’s ear, but they were too far away and he was too quiet. But there was something about their body language that seemed off to him.

“Sam,” he murmured under his breath, hopefully only loud enough for him to hear.

“Yeah?” he replied quietly at his side.

“What the the hell’s goin’ on?”

“He knew dad.”

“Mhmm. What’d you thinks goin’ on between him and Rick?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said, sounding irritable for not knowing. “I thought he was just the leader but the way Daryl’s touching him... it’s protective. Possessive even.”

“Think they’re involved?”

“Maybe. He’s at least his second.”

Both fell quiet when Rick glanced back at their little group looking intrigued and nodded, calling “Welcome to the prison” before walking back towards the shed he came out of. A gruff wave of Daryl’s arm is what signaled them to follow him, this time towards the prison itself. Dean was bursting with questions and even though he could tell Daryl wasn’t the talking type, he wanted answers.

“So Rick is the leader of the prison?”

“No.”

 _What the hell?_ Dean thought. He’d be the first to admit that he’s no master of reading body language, but that didn’t work with what he saw. The way Daryl fit at Rick’s side, just a tad behind him, and the way he looked to him all spoke of a second. It was similar to the way him and Sam fell into place with each other while on cases. Without actually verbalizing their observations, whoever seemed more in control in the moment was the lead and the other took second. It was just their way and Dean _knew_ it was Rick and Daryl’s as well. “That doesn’t make any sense. I saw you - ”

“Listen close ‘cause I ain’t gonna say this again,” Daryl intoned threateningly, turning around and getting in his face so he would miss nothing. “He was, but he’s takin’ time off. He deserves it and I don’t want ya questionin’ him or anyone else about it. Ya hear me?”

“We meant no offense,” Sam said in that tone he had, the one that could talk even the most deranged people from the edge.

Shooting them all one last glare, Daryl spun back around and started leading them across the prison courtyard again. Before they could even fall back into place behind him, Cas spoke up in that all-knowing-angel voice he occasionally used, the one that usually brought trouble.

“He’s so defensive of him because he’s in love with him.”

Several things happened at once. Daryl tripped over his own feet, which Dean guessed happened about as often as him and Sam started Apocalypses. He felt Sam move in front of Castiel at the same time as he did to protect him from the mercurial archer, if need be. Both Winchesters and Castiel muttered “Oh, shit” when Daryl slowly, menacingly turned to face them.

“What tha hell did ya just say?”

“I - ” Castiel started.

“Nothing!” Dean interrupted, unwilling to risk seeing whether he was going to lie or not. “He just said he understands what it means to be defensive of a friend. Right, Cas?”

“...right.”

Daryl looked like he believed them as far as he could throw them. “Yeah. Ya’ll wait here. I’ma get someone to get ya'll settled.”

After he had walked away, all bristly anger and repressed fury, Dean turned to Castiel, hoping he looked as understanding as he was serious.

“Cas, remember that talk we had about personal space?”

“Yes.”

“Do we need to have one about personal secrets?”

“...no.”

“Too bad, you’re getting one anyway.”

Dean then turned back to the door into the prison, wondering who would come out to meet them and if they would be friendlier, when he saw the silhouette of someone walking down the entrance towards them.

“So, which one of you pissed off, Pookie?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know they chapters have been hella short thus far, but from here on out they'll get longer and more detailed. I'm just setting up some things right now so the story can progress and grow.
> 
> Sorry it took me so long to restructure this story to the point where I'm happy with it, but here we are!
> 
> And sorry if it isn't Destiel-y enough yet. But fear not. This is just me laying out some preliminary stuff, too.
> 
> Are you still interested? Yes? No?

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments here or, as always, come at me on my Tumblr, [mycroft-silently-judges-you](http://mycroft-silently-judges-you.tumblr.com)!!!
> 
> Thank you!


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